I think of you often– more often than you imagine, if you even imagine me at all these days. Our story was brief to be sure, but it has left a lasting impression on me. Why I chose to disappear, I can't remember; but I wish I hadn't been such a fool. The "what if"s are the worst part of it all. What if we had gone on a picnic? What if we had gone off the deep end together?
It could have been something. I apologize.
I can only hope my name weasels it's way into your subconscious some day.
My red string is tied securely to my big toe– give your end a tug; I'll let you know if I feel it.